


Relapse

by FishEyenoMiko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Addiction, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishEyenoMiko/pseuds/FishEyenoMiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A troubled young Sherlock goes to Mycroft for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relapse

I sigh as I watch the rain fall against the glass pane of my front door. I'm not looking forward to the meeting with Mr. Jenkins, my accountant, as it is, and now I'm going to have to contend with the rain on top of everything else. Grabbing my coat and umbrella out of the closet in the foyer, I open the door. I stop short.

Lying curled up on my front porch is my younger brother, Sherlock.

"Sherlock!"

He sits up, then shakily rises to his feet. His limp, dark hair is hanging to his shoulders, his wet fringe dripping on his face. He's not wearing a coat, so his shirt and trousers are soaked. His clothes were clearly once quite nice, but are in bad shape from the various misadventures my brother has put them through.

"I... I have no place else to go."

My brother's voice is tinged with a mixture of anger and futility.

"It's all right," I tell him. I step back into the house, ushering Sherlock into the foyer.

I take my phone out of my pocket and dial.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jenkins, but I'm going to need to postpone our meeting. I have a family emergency. Yes, all right, I'll call your secretary first thing in the morning."

I don't even try hide my smirk as I hang up.

I look at Sherlock. He's always been on the thin side, but he's terribly skinny now; I wonder when he's last had a decent meal.

"I should get you some dinner."

"All right."

 

Sherlock sits quietly, eating the bacon sandwich I made him. He occasionally dips it into his tomato soup. 

"Do you have a place to stay?"

"No. I was..." 

Sherlock looks down at the table. He's clearly uncomfortable with what he's about to say.

"I was hoping to stay here for a few days, until the heat's off."

"You're in trouble?"

Sherlock shakes his head. "I'll be fine in a few days."

" _Sherlock_."

" _Mycroft_ ," he replies mockingly. "Relax, it'll be _fine_."

I sigh. I wish my brother would confide in me more. Still, if he's staying a few days, perhaps the truth will come out. And perhaps the time will give us an opportunity to mend our broken relationship.

"I'd be happy to have you stay. I have some of your old clothes; they should fit you."

Looking at Sherlock, I have a feeling that the clothes might actually be too big for him at the moment.

Sherlock nods, then goes back to his meal.

 

As Sherlock finishes his sandwich, I get up.

"Let me get you some pyjamas to change into after your bath."

It isn't that late, but it's clear Sherlock won’t be up for anything but sleep after he bathes.

Sherlock leans towards me, smiling. 

"Will you help me?" 

My brother's voice is rough, his tone full of innuendo. I'd be lying if I said it didn't affect me. I quickly recover--though not quickly enough for Sherlock not to notice--and head out of the room.

"I'll meet you in my bedroom. Do you know remember where it is?"

Sherlock nods.

 

Sherlock is barefoot when he enters the bathroom. He undresses slowly, still feeling lethargic despite eating.

"You didn't answer my question: Will you help me with my bath?"

I sigh.

"Yes, under the circumstances, I probably should give you a hand. I'm going to go get a change of clothes for myself."

 

When I come back into the bathroom, Sherlock is naked and sitting on the edge of the tub. His pale, thin body looks almost sickly in the harsh bathroom light.

"I think a shower would be best," I say, heading over to the tub.

"So you'll been getting in with me."

"Yes."

I try to ignore the hopeful, hungry expression on my brother's face. I turn the taps and adjust them until the water is right temperature.

Sherlock steps into the tub as I get undressed. I get into the shower, sliding the door closed.

I wash his hair for him. I have to admit I rather like doing it; his hair is wonderfully soft and curly, and washing it gives me an excuse to run my fingers through it. Once I've washed and conditioned it, I lean him forward to rinse it off under the shower head. He relaxes, letting me move him around as I need to. As I hold him, I notice how light he is.

Getting the body wash and a small flannel, Sherlock begins to clean himself off. He washes his torso and arms--I can't help but notice the track marks on the inside of his left elbow--then turns around.

"Back?" He hands me the flannel.

I wash his back, noting the prominence of his vertebrae through his skin. When I'm done, I give the flannel back to him. He turns around and hands it back. He leans toward me, his eyes half-lidded with desire.

"Will you wash the rest of me?"

As before, my brother's words and actions excite me; I can feel my heart speed up and my cheeks get warm. 

"Sherlock... we can't do this."

"Why not?" he asks. He's upset.

"This... it's not right, Sherlock."

"Oh, please! Like _you_ care about right or wrong. You're just afraid of how it might hurt your image. Besides, it certainly didn't feel wrong the last time we did it."

I find myself--without meaning or wanting to--flashing back to our previous liaison... my brother's full lips on my skin, my hands exploring his slender, beautiful body. These thoughts should not excite me, but, God help me, they do.

I shake my head. "We never should have..."

"Fucked?"

I'm sure I turn even redder at this. I'm hardly a prude, but given the context, I feel that my shame is understandable.

"Any of it," I reply. 

"No one has to know, Mycroft..."

Sherlock leans forward again, one hand sliding down my torso. I push him back with a little more force than before.

" _No_ , Sherlock."

He pulls away angrily. I note that he falters a bit, but he recovers quickly.

"Get out."

I decide to refrain from pointing out it's my bathroom. Instead, I say, "I want to make sure you're all right."

He looks away.

"Fine."

 

Sherlock perfunctorily washes his lower body, then opens the shower door and steps out onto the shower mat. He then grabs a towel to dry himself off. 

Sherlock picks up the pyjama bottoms I got out for him. When he lifts his leg to get them on, the shift in position causes him to nearly fall over. I rush over, catching him around the waist and holding him up. For a moment he seems torn between pushing away and giving in. He finally relaxes against me, the pyjama bottoms falling from his hand. He turns towards me, burying his face in my neck. I can feel him shaking. 

"Oh, God..." 

He sounds so small and lost.

"It okay, Sherlock... Let me help you get dressed and into bed, all right?"

"Okay."

 

It's easier for me to just wrap Sherlock in a dressing gown. I put mine on, as well, then lead Sherlock into my bedroom. I had turned down the covers when I went to get my pyjamas, so getting him into bed is easy. I crawl in after him. He rolls over, facing me. 

My heart--yes, I _do_ have one--hurts at the sight of my younger brother looking so forlorn. I reach out, stroking his hair. He closes his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. Then his face falls, and sob escapes his lips.

"Sherlock..."

He starts crying, pulling his hands over his face.

I slide closer, putting an arm around him.

"Sherlock... I'm here. I'll take care of you."

I feel him nod and press even closer.

"Yes... take care of me, Mycroft. I need you..."

He starts nuzzling my neck. I feel his lips against my skin. 

Oh, God, it feels so good.

I manage to pull away.

"Sherlock... no."

My protestation sounds much less convincing than my previous one.

Sherlock grabs my arms with surprising strength.

"Please, Mycroft... please..."

He pulls close again, his lips pressing roughly against mine. I'm kissing him back before I even realise I'm doing it.

Oh, God, I have to stop this...

I stroke his cheek; my hand travels down to his long thin neck.

Sherlock sighs, licking my lips.

My hand slides down, along the collar of his dressing gown. I reach the waist, making quick work of the loosely-tied belt. I move back, undoing my own dressing gown. Sherlock presses against me. I slide my hand around his waist; he moans against my throat when I gently squeeze his buttock.

Sherlock rolls me onto my back, one slender knee pushing between my legs. I usually prefer being on top--both literally and figuratively--but I don't mind bottoming for Sherlock. 

I caress him as he slides between my legs. I happen to run my fingers over his inner left elbow. 

Oh, shit.

"Just a moment, Sherlock."

I gently push him off of me, turning towards my bedside table. I get out a box of condoms and a tube of lube and set them out ready to use.

"Under the circumstances, Sherlock, you won't mind me talking precautions."

Sherlock just shakes his head.

I lay back down, and Sherlock scoots up between my thighs. Reaching down, I take hold of his prick. I stroke it gently, slowly. I love the feeling of my brother getting hard in my hand. Letting go, I reach behind it to fondle his balls.

"Oh, God...."

I smile.

I reach over and get the lube and a condom.

"Do you want to, or shall I?" I ask.

Leaning over, Sherlock brushes his lips against mine. 

"You."

I open the condom and slip it on Sherlock's hard prick. Opening the lube, I squeeze some onto my fingers. Arching up, I apply some to my opening.

"I'm ready."

Sherlock moves forward again. Taking his cock in hand, he maneuvers it into me. 

I sigh with pleasure as my brother slides into me.

He begins to thrust; his unsure, awkward movements speak of inexperience. I wonder if Sherlock has had sex with anyone aside from me. I find myself rather inappropriately aroused by the idea that I'm the only sexual partner my brother has ever had.

Stretching out on top of me, Sherlock continues his slow, inexpert efforts. He's sweaty, and I can see the exertion is tiring him.

"Here, let me."

Putting my hands on his bony hips, I hold him still and start riding his prick. His head drops onto my shoulder. He moans and grabs my arms and lets me take control.

"That's it," I say soothingly. "Just relax. Hmm... so nice..."

He whimpers.

"Sherlock...? Am I hurting you?"

He shakes his head, his damp hair brushing against my skin.

"Just... don't stop."

"No, of course not."

I kiss the top of his head.

Sherlock shudders, letting out a sob as he comes. He goes still--which he usually does post-coitus--and I rub his back to soothe him.

I roll us over. Sherlock's prick slides out of me. I reach down and slip off the condom, tie if off, and toss it in the bin next to my bed.

"Let me get you cleaned off."

"Okay."

Getting up, I go into the bathroom. I clean myself of sweat and lube. I get out two flannels, wetting one in the sink.

I re-enter the bedroom. Sherlock is spread out on the bed. I brazenly admire his naked body; he just as brazenly looks back, acknowledging and allowing my indecent gaze. 

I sit next to him. I use the damp cloth to clean between his legs. He smiles as I wipe his prick and balls. I dry him with the dry flannel. 

"I'll be right back."

 

When I come back into the bedroom, Sherlock is lying on his side.

"Do you want the dressing gown?"

Sherlock shakes his head.

"All right."

I get into bed, pulling the covers around us. Sherlock is nearly asleep. I let my eyes slide over his body. I again note how thin and unhealthy he looks. I consider how distraught he is; how emotional and easily distressed he's become. My eyes fall on the track marks on his arm again. My little brother clearly needs help, and for all my good intentions and resources, I'm not sure I'm the best person to give him that help. I simply don't know how to deal with an addiction, and how to wean someone off of one. And while I thought I had gotten over my incestuous desires for Sherlock, tonight has made it quite clear to me that I haven't. As long as this remains between us, I feel like it will hinder my ability to help him. 

"Sherlock, I may need to get up, so don't be surprised if you wake up and I'm not here."

"Hmmm...? Oh, okay."

I lean forward, kissing Sherlock's forehead.

 

I lay there for awhile, watching my brother fall asleep. 

As soon as I'm sure Sherlock's completely out, I take my phone, get out of bed, and slip into the next room. I look for the proper number, then dial.

"Hello, Dr. Sampson? I have a relative who has mental issues and a drug addiction. I was wondering what would be required to get him sectioned?"


End file.
